KENVIL ATKINS I AM THE WANDERER
I roam around and around that’s my story.
A rolling stone gathers no moss what’s the fuss.
I should have told them or even cursed my birth.
Leaving me in a rut as a tot that took real guts.
And I was carried away to the village of Saltibus.
To Moreau, I trout in a pool of dust
And live with my grandfather Bill that’s the deal.
Carried away to Vieux-Fort what a thought.
And then to Canells with my grandfather Leslie
Came to him with an injury not to reveal.
And back to Micoud, my birthplace what a thrill
For a little while I was hauled to Canals again
Found myself walking alone in the rain.
And to Micoud, I crawl back again.
I did not ask them to put me here just not fair.
While they enjoy their house on Thrift Street
Others Soon took big pleasure in my mistreat.
Yet they want me to remain as if I am just the same.
Where is their shame I am not to be blame?
Sometimes no shirt on my back and worn-out pants
That leaves me not quite in the mood to dance.
Now you know my story I kid you I find no glory.
Folks I have tried in vain to forget my pain.
But the feelings come back and back again.
Till my mind can be somewhere a drift
To find solitude I fear that’s a lost endeavor.
Whispering Voices poetry / Timeless poem series
